Country Mailman

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

*  *  *

 

The Post Office was quiet as I sorted my mail. Then I heard a big sigh and knew the postmaster had run into problems. He dropped three envelopes on the front of my case and stood waiting.

“Who are these people?”

After looking at the first envelope, I had to smile at the painfully scrawled writing. It was addressed to: Mamaw, Starz, Texas. The return address said: John, Glen Rose. “This is Liz Dickson who lives on County Road 400 and it’s from her youngest grandson who ought to be in first grade by now.” I noted his raised eyebrow and explained. “Liz’s son is a basketball coach at the Glen Rose high school. They moved there two years ago.”

I didn’t explain that he and his wife spent five years trying to adopt a child and ended up with little John, a Russian baby, just before Russia closed all foreign adoptions. Nor did I explain that the entire community gave them a baby shower. Some things outsiders just don’t understand.

The next envelope was just as easy. The full name and address were written, but the writing was so shaky, I understood his confusion. “This goes to James Nellon on Farm Road 46. It’s from his father who has palsy and lives in a nursing home in Abilene.” I pointed to the return address where the town’s name was distinguishable. I didn’t bother to explain that the senior Mr. Nellon was a retired Highway patrolman who singlehandedly pulled five people out of burning cars in one of the worst pile-ups in the area during a rare winter blizzard. I know that because one of the people he saved was me. I was eighteen at the time, trapped, and unconscious with a head injury. My only memory of it was Mr. Nellon’s hand on my shoulder telling me everything would be fine. And he was right.

The third envelope took me a full minute before a light clicked in my head. “This one says Miss Elise Neugebauer on County Road 1790, but she got married three years ago and became a Krauser. We stopped forwarding her mail long ago.” I studied the return address and frowned. “This might be important. I’ll deliver it to her mom. She’ll either send it or take it to her the next time she visits.” I didn’t add that her mother visited Elise once a month to help with the new twins, staying four days each time so her daughter could take a break from motherhood. At first, Elise’s father was not happy to be left alone to fend for himself, but the last time I saw him at Edna’s café, he was beginning to enjoy the freedom. Seems as if he found a poker game. It isn’t the same one I visit, but I know several of the participants. His game has much higher stakes than mine, but Jargen Neugebauer farms five sections of land and has a larger cashflow than I do. He also has a private airplane and a mighty big boat.

The postmaster turned and disappeared toward the front counter and I took that to mean my suggestion was okay with him. Ten minutes later, I loaded and sat ready to tackle another day of delivering mail.

The first hour of the route was smooth sailing but as soon as I rounded Devil’s Curve, I saw the figure and a car on the side of the road. The girl was trying to lift a tire out of the open trunk. I pressed the accelerator, sped up and gave the horn a honk so she’d stop.

“Quit that right now, young lady,” I yelled from the open window as I pulled up behind her and parked.

She half-smiled as she turned and saw me. “Hi, Buck. Looks like I need some help.”

I nodded and pointed to the small shade that a mesquite offered on the side of the road. Gena Dinsmoor was six months pregnant. “You go stand over there while I change this tire. This heat isn’t doing you any good. And don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. I’m out in it all day so I ought to know.”

A grin appeared as she ambled toward the ditch and stood under the meager shade. I delivered letters to her from a soldier stationed overseas for two years before they stopped. Then I held her mail for two weeks while she went on vacation. Three months later, the gal starts showing but the letters don’t continue. For three months, I saw her disappointment when I handed her the mail. Then last week, an envelope from the same soldier shows up, but the return address is from a different location. Ever since, there’s been a smile on her face. I can only surmise that the guy either smartened up and realized what he might lose or he was just in limbo and didn’t know what was happening back here in the states. Either way, Gena has a shine in her eyes that every mother-to-be ought to have.

“There you go,” I said as I brushed my hands on my shorts. “You get that tire to Jim McCravy to get patched right away. Don’t want you driving around here without a spare.”

When she hugged me, I knew she was thanking me for more than changing her tire. I just didn’t know what. I hugged her back because she seemed to need it. “You okay, girl?”

“Yes. Edna at the café told me you shamed Ernie and Monty for spreading rumors about me. Thanks.”

I nodded and held the door while she got in the driver’s seat. Books and a backpack sat beside her. “How much longer do you have in college?”

She grinned. “One more online class to finish and I’m through. I could have graduated last month, but the counselor found another class I have to take. I’ll walk across the stage in December.”

“Good for you. Any plans?”

She half-smiled. “Other than have a baby?”

I nodded, not answering because she didn’t need a smart response from me. Nor did she need advice. I suspect her mother and father took care of that. Her father farmed two sections and preached occasionally at the country church when the regular preacher was gone. Her mother taught first grade and gave piano lessons.

“I’ll let you know next month. My…boyfriend is coming home. He’s a Marine.”

“You can’t go wrong there. I’ll bet he’s a fine young man.” I shut the door and stood in the road while she drove away. Kids, you just gotta love ‘um. All of them need help along the way and they might not do exactly what a parent wants, but you can’t ever give up on family.

For the next few miles, I felt a goofy grin on my face as I reviewed my kids’ antics as they got older. Some memories made me chuckle, others made me proud and those that didn’t were easily dismissed. Traveling on the ranch road, I had plenty of time to reminisce as the closest mailbox sat five miles down the pavement.

Old elm trees line the road and although the leaves are still green, there is a feeling of autumn in the air. As I passed by a large section of bushes along the old pipe fence, my foot automatically hit the brake pedal. For an instant, I shook my head, sure that what I thought I saw couldn’t possibly be real. I had to back up since bushes hid the heifer and only when I faced her head on, did I believe the outrageous predicament to be true.

When she saw me staring, a plaintiff sound echoed from her throat and I totally understood. The lady was in a jam and I had no idea how to relieve her situation. She appeared calm and occasionally lowered her head to get a mouthful of the lush grass growing outside the pipe fence, but I couldn’t help wondering how long she had been in that position.

Country roads are rarely travelled and I knew the rancher might not come along for days. I dialed the second emergency number on my phone.

“Jake, you won’t believe what I’m seeing. One of Henry’s cows is straddling his pipe fence. Two feet are on one side and her back feet are barely touching ground on the other. She’s hung between udder and belly.”

I laughed at the sheriff’s disbelieving remark. “Okay, I’ll take a picture with my phone and send it to you. Tell Henry she’s about three miles from the turnoff and I want to know how he gets her out of this predicament.”

I snapped the image, glad the cow didn’t look to be in distress. I’d add it to all the other unusual images I collected along the mail route. Some things are hard to believe and this was in that category, but I’ve witnessed my share of odd sights on the Starz mail route. I’ve seen a bobcat sitting on top of a windmill platform, surveying the landscape as if it was his. I sat at the intersection of Farm Road 400 and Highway 84 as a young man wearing a backpack whizzed by me on rollerblades. He was eighteen miles from any town and judging from the dirt on his face and the heavy tan, had been on the road awhile. Animals and people often act odd, but there’s usually a reason. I don’t always have time to determine what that reason is as I have a job to do and customers who depend on me, but I do enjoy watching the show!   

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Texas Tradeoff: A novel by Kathy May Davies

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Country Mailman

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

*  *  *

Normally, I appreciate the 4-wheel drive SUV I have, but this morning I wished I had a pickup. Only in an emergency or with a valid reason, can I divert from my regular line of travel and I wasn’t certain the two boxes in the back fit in either category. I inhaled deeply and kept on my appointed rounds. If I had a pickup, I could put them in the back and not have to listen to the incessant noise. Two hours and six antacid tablets later, I pulled to the side of the road and called the postmaster.

“I’m diverting from the route and delivering to Max Lewis on County Road 3800.” I paused after hearing his question. I could lie and give him a valid reason or I could tell the truth. I opted for the truth. If the man couldn’t understand, then we had bigger problems than those two boxes in the back. “The noise is driving me crazy.” 

There was only a grunt on the end of the line so I took that to mean he understood. Twenty minutes later I sighed with relief as I pulled into Max’s drive and headed to the barn. Both cars were gone. Alice worked at the bank and Max occasionally did custom farming so I suspected he was off plowing someone’s field. I didn't see any evidence of kids and then I remembered the late summer football practice and suspected his two boys were at the field with all the other hopefuls. Now what?

Both dogs eyed me. Neither one moved from their spot in the shade, but I knew the minute I opened my door, they would start barking. Rip, the big one, isn’t the problem. He's the bluffer, and since he stands waist tall, plays his part well. His bark is more like a braying mule than a country dog, but his gray eyes give him away as a softie. Of all the dogs on my mail route, Rip is the one I’d like to take home with me. But not the little one – he would bite me – and without warning. He is the hit-and-run guy, sneaky, slinking underneath the car to nip at a leg. Since I didn’t wear socks today, my ankles are prime targets.

The doors of the barn stood open so I drove in and looked for a place to leave the boxes. Then I spotted the cat. She looked big, lean and hungry. I could almost see her licking her chops in anticipation as every ear within half a mile could hear my backseat roar. So far, my plan bordered on failure. I didn’t see any spot where Max had planned for the contents of the boxes so the logical place was inside the house. Alice might shoot me, but there wasn’t any other safe location. I didn’t know the value of the contents in those boxes but Max didn’t order them just to have them disappear in a cat’s gullet.

After parking at the back door, I saw where Hit-and-Run squatted and boldly opened the car door. Both dogs started barking and sure enough, the little terrier began slinking toward the house. A water faucet and hose were close, so I hopped out, grabbed the nozzle, turned on the water and aimed it as the dog shot out from under the car - headed straight for my feet. The water stopped him. We eyed each other after he escaped and retreated to his spot underneath a shade tree. Rip no longer barked and he, too, remained in the shade. I would be safe until Hit-and-Run got bold again.

A few minutes later, I surveyed my project. The sheet of plastic I had in the back of the SUV now lay on the tile floor of Alice’s mudroom. It was relatively clean and would catch any soiled matter that escaped from the contents of the containers. On top sat Max’s mail, 350 two-day-old pheasant chicks, chirping like there was no tomorrow. Through the holes I could see tiny beaks, eyes, and fluff and all parts appeared active. The noise filled the little room so I knew the baby fowl wouldn’t be overlooked when Alice or Max came home. Lucky for me, their back door wasn’t locked. In ten days, the little chicks would grow wings and start flying. For now, at least, they wouldn’t get too hot or be eaten by that monster in the barn. I didn’t think there was another cat in the house, but I closed the door to the kitchen anyway. I stayed another moment by the back door to admire my work, satisfied that I had done my job in delivering the babies safely – all part of customer service.

I smiled slightly when the dogs sat up as I left the house. Two tails wagged and neither barked. Hit-and-Run didn’t act interested in my ankles so I bypassed the hose, got in the car and left, feeling pleased that all was well and there was blessed silence.

Sometimes I have to be inventive to deliver mail because often times mail is more than just an envelope. Most people who live in the country understand when the mailman enters their house uninvited. I only do it when there is no other alternative and I only do it when I know I would be welcome if they were home. After driving the route all these years, I know the difference. Usually, it’s the people who move from the cities to the country who don’t want strangers of any kind on their property. Not always.

Joe Bean isn’t from the city and he doesn’t want me anywhere near his place. He doesn’t want anyone and has No Trespassing signs staked along the fence. But Joe is crazy – even in school, he was a bit off. I liked Joe and on his good days, he couldn’t be beat, but as the years passed, his mind went a different route than most folks and I don’t see any more good days. Medication might help, but Joe isn’t the kind to acknowledge, nor accept that the strange creatures he sees are only in his head. His mutterings don’t bother me as I often talk to myself, however, since he has one eye that wanders, most people steer clear of the man. Probably best. Jake, the County Sheriff, had a hard time making Joe remove the shotgun from the back window of his truck, but since he couldn’t provide a permit, Joe finally put it under his seat. Jake might think the weapon is in Joe’s house but I parked next to him at the grocery store while Babe ran inside to get some milk, and saw the butt of the shotgun clearly visible when Joe opened his door.

It’s a sad situation. Until Joe does something stupid, Jake is in a tough spot. He can’t follow the guy around 24 hours a day, but he has looked into the new Texas law that allows officials to remove firearms from individuals with mental problems. Jake said he expects to get the okay any day now, and hopes it is soon as Joe Bean’s wandering eye and guns make him real nervous.

Joe lines his windows in aluminum foil and covers his baseball cap with it. The inside of his pickup reflects the silver sheen and I suspect he is Reynolds’ best customer. His front door is one big aluminum foil-coated monstrosity that can clearly be seen from the road because the reflection will blind a person when the sun is just right.

I understand aluminum foil is a heat reflector and can be used for cleaning lots of things, like silverware and pots and pans, but I doubt Joe has that in mind when he buys it by the carton. Luckily, he has a large mailbox. I haven’t had to deliver any parcels to his house yet. I’ve a good idea, I never will. There’s a reason for little pink slips that say there’s a package waiting for you at the Post Office and I believe in No Trespassing signs, especially when they are wrapped in foil.

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New Adventures in the Country Mailman

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

*  *  *

Jolene Edwards and her group are out early this morning. Only one more week left of summer and next Monday, half the kids in her entourage will be back in school. Two Radio Flyer red wagons trailed up the road. Three small kids were in each and several larger ones took turns pulling. Two cocker spaniels trotted in the rear, their little trimmed tails wagging like bobble-heads on a rough road.

 They had all been to the snow cone stand. I didn’t know it opened at nine o’clock, but clearly it must since every one of them had colored faces, colored tongues, and colored shirts. Even the dogs looked as if they had shared in the treat. Today must also be swim day, as I can’t imagine her getting all that color off them any other way. Jolene keeps kids. She is the champ, in my opinion. They go everywhere in those little wagons and when they aren’t snacking, they are singing. She also has them picking up trash in the park, collecting cans for recycling, and entertaining the old folks at the retirement center. One of the little Kosch twins can already sing The Star Spangled Banner and she is only five. Mostly I hear songs from the latest Disney movie whenever they pass by and Jolene is singing just as loudly as all of them.

Jolene is a survivor - breast cancer. After chemotherapy, surgery and another round of chemotherapy, the two hundred and fifty pound woman lost a hundred pounds and gained a respect for life that she didn’t have earlier. She also started keeping kids and teaching them the same joy of living that she feels.

One day they were all holding balloons as they walked down the road to an empty field. I watched and was close enough to hear her praise Kimmy Johns for deciding to give up her pacifier. Jolene tied the pacifier to one of the balloons, bundled them all together and let Kimmy turn them loose. The little girl was saying goodbye to a friend, but she was surrounded by even more friends who clapped enthusiastically as the balloons floated in the sky.

Jolene Edwards is a pleasure to be around, a woman who has a smile on her face, no matter how dirty those kids are, and a contagious hearty laugh. Her husband isn’t quite as outgoing. Her diet didn’t affect Bill for he still weighs a hefty amount. Every time I see him, I vow to forego dessert for dinner and walk an extra mile. He is one large man, but he still works for the Highway Department and I pick up that hospital payment every month from their mailbox. It’s been five years since Jolene’s treatment and they are still faithfully paying their debt. Normally, I wouldn’t notice a customer’s outgoing mail, but Jolene writes a large number on the back of the hospital payment envelope in thick, black marker. I suspect it is the amount of payments she has left as the number seems to be getting less.

Rarely do I stop at the café for coffee when I deliver the mail, but today there isn’t much in my tray on the front seat beside me. I am way ahead of schedule and Jake’s car is parked in front of the small white building. I have a few questions about the stock market, and since he is not only the county sheriff, but also the local Dow guru, now seems like the perfect opportunity. As I walked through the door, I knew something wasn’t right. Edna’s face was red and a young woman I’ve never seen handed out menus.

“What’s up?” I asked Jake as I sat down at the counter beside him, noting his starched brown uniform was immaculate as usual.

“Brenda’s at college orientation for a few days so she sent her cousin. It seems as if her cousin has never been a waitress. Edna has to do it all and she’s not happy.”

Edna was busy. She helped the new girl take orders from eight oil field workers sitting at the back table, flitting around the table like a clucking hen. I reached behind the counter, got a cup and poured myself some coffee. The milk wasn’t in its usual spot so I went to the small refrigerator behind the bar, saw the small container and poured the milk into my cup. There wasn’t much, but just enough for me. It cooled the heat quickly and I drank nearly half of it in one gulp. I do love coffee.

Then I heard a baby in the back room. It started crying softly at first, but in a minute cranked it up until Edna cursed loudly. “Go feed that baby, for heaven’s sake!”

The young girl hurried toward the counter, jerked open the refrigerator and appeared upset. She looked around; saw the container by my coffee cup and tears started pouring down her cheek.

Jake and I looked at each other, not understanding any part of the situation, but clearly, I was the cause of her distress. Edna was suddenly beside us. She looked at the young girl, glanced at my coffee cup, shook her head and sighed as if we were all idiots. “Gina, get that baby, take it home, feed it and both of you take a nap. That little girl needs you worse than I do.”

Gina’s tears were drying but amidst the low sobs, I heard the accusation as she glared at me. “You drank my breast milk.”

I felt my mouth drop open just as I heard Jake snort to keep from laughing. Edna patted my back before ushering Gina and the car-seated infant out the door.

“Coffee’s on the house this morning, Buck,” she whispered as she returned to the back table full of hungry men. Her step was livelier and a big grin was on her face.

B and K project

Country Mailman

Tune in every week to read about the adventures of Buck Buchanan, fictional country mailman, delivering mail out of Starz, Texas. He takes his job seriously and knows that customers count on him to deliver every piece of mail entitled to them. He is all about customer service. With a willing ear and a helping hand, Buck Buchanan goes the extra mile.

*  *  *

I spotted her half a mile away, half hidden by underbrush, but the distinct red and black pattern of her hide made me shake my head. The old goat never learned. Only one of Ben Hudson’s goats gets caught in the wire fence regularly. At least, she is the only one I see. The nanny has so many scars on her body, she is easy to recognize. And there is one place outside the fence line where wild grapes grow. Nanny loves these grapes so much, she forgets that her horns never fit back through the hogwire.

I stopped and she struggled to get up, but had twisted herself in so badly, I knew I’d have to cut her out. Because of Nanny, I carried wire cutters and leather gloves – for the last six or seven years, the old coot has been getting stuck in the same spot in the fence year after year – but only during grape season. The lady knew me and sat patiently on her haunches while I systematically snipped the strands. She even tried to nuzzle my neck while I bent over her shoulder - could be the new aftershave I wore or that Babe had gotten up early and fried bacon for breakfast. After I freed her, she remained stationary and I saw her eyeing the grapes behind me. It didn’t take but a minute to cut some vines laden with the fruit and toss them inside the fence. Almost in acknowledgment, she shook her head vigorously before walking over to a bare mesquite trunk and rubbing her neck against the rough bark. I reached for the spare wire wrapped around the fence post to patch the fence, but I didn’t twist it too tight. I’d be rescuing Nanny again when she got hungry for grapes. Luckily, the season only lasted a month.

Half a mile down the road, Melanie Anzt stood at her mailbox as I braked to a stop. I found myself sighing and shaking my head the same as I did when I saw Nanny stuck in the fence. The outfit was typical and I knew her husband was out of town. Melanie wore a negligee, pink fluffy slippers and looked as if she just woke up from a very long sleep. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her like that and at no time did she try to hide any part of what that negligee didn’t cover. Melanie had a collection of them, all different colors, and I knew where they came from as she received several packages a week from Victoria’s Secret. Luckily the Anzt’s had a large mailbox and so far, all the boxes fit inside, leaving me without having to make a decision whether to take them to the house or leave a pink slip in the box.

“Mornin’ Buck. Would you like to come in for coffee? I can make breakfast if you are hungry.”

I truly believe there are times in my life when I’m put to the test. Melanie Anzt is one of those tests. She and I both know neither coffee nor breakfast is on her mind and if I ever stepped through that front door, her husband, Andy, would have every cause to use that rifle he carried in the back window of his vehicle. Andy traveled a lot, being a rodeo stockman, and Melanie stayed home. She didn’t have any kids to keep her occupied. She wasn’t the type to join the local quilting or gardening clubs and since she had no family in the area, I’m sure I was the only one she saw on days when Andy was gone.

I handed her the mail and smiled, not anxious to stick around. I kept thinking of Babe’s face as she handed me the plate of bacon and toast this morning, a bright smile on her face and a sleepy look in her eyes. She also got up early just to make me cinnamon rolls for breakfast occasionally.

 “Thanks, Melanie, but I’ve got mail to deliver. See you tomorrow.”

As I drove off, I shook my head. Would Nanny and Melanie ever be satisfied with what was on their side of the fence? I rearranged my shorts to get more comfortable after seeing a near-naked woman and thought my life would be easier if they would. Then I groaned, braked to a stop and honked my horn. I didn’t want Melanie to get too far. I sure didn’t want to have to walk up to her door and knock on it.

The small box lay just where I had put it this morning, right beside my water bottle. When the postmaster handed it to me, along with all the other parcels to log in on the sheet, he had a raised eyebrow, but no words, no jokes. The man was not the chatty kind and I often wondered if his life at home was just as dreary.

The batteries the manufacturer used must be top dollar as that little box had been vibrating up a storm ever since he handed it to me. The little fellow was still jumping up and down on the dash. I could only surmise the contents since the return address label was generic, but Melanie Antz was the intended recipient and I suspected my guess would be accurate.

When I handed Melanie the vibrating box, she first looked surprised, then got a sly grin on her face. She, too, raised her eyebrow, just like the postmaster and looked me square in the eyes. Another test. Too many for any man in one morning!

I shook my head even though she didn’t speak, put the car in gear and drove away, without glancing in the mirror. I could very well remember her image in that negligee without looking again. I did like the green lacy one better, though. Some things stick in your mind and don’t leave. Again, I rearranged my shorts, reached for the water bottle and took a long swig. After a moment, I poured the rest over my head. It was enough to dislodge the picture. I had a job to do… and goats to save… and cinnamon rolls to eat!